


A Cusp

by kikibug13



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Vision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things Paul Atreides would do to save the life of his son from the future he has seen. Pleasing his cousin might even be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cusp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Greekhoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greekhoop/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this. Merry holidays!
> 
> And many thanks to my beta!

Paul was chained, wrists for his ankles behind him so that kneeling was the most comfortable position - where comfort applied to the situation at all - and a collar connected to it so his neck was bowed down. His mouth was gagged. Feyd-Rautha was careful. 

All that it meant was that Paul would have to go along with whatever Feyd had planned longer before he could take any action. And it would be risky. 

Then again, getting captured in the first place had been risky.

He looked around the room, as much as the awkward bent of his neck allowed. It was lush, rich, in ways that were entirely Harkonnen. The part of Paul that was bred and raise an Atreides found it garish; the other part of him found it natural. Tasteful, here in Feyd-Rautha's personal chambers. 

Ah. So that was what he had planned. Paul's lips thinned, barely noticeably. _Forgive me, Chany. Forgive me, son. For what I am about to do._ There were promises to his family that he was loath to break.

But he _was_ going to do it, and willingly. The only way to grind his cousin's defenses down - make him believe Feyd had found his weakness. That the kind of treatment he was going to receive surprised him, and mattered to him. Oh, this he could do. What he would do when Feyd's defenses were down... 

He would know, when the time came.

His cousin's steps were quiet, perfectly softened by the thick carpet and smooth tile. If it were anyone else, the smack across his cheek would have come as a surprise. For all observers, it did, too, though Paul knew better. The way he commanded his body not to brace himself for the impact. The way he forced himself to ride the pain and show it turning into desire. He couldn't lick the blood running down from his nose, not with the gag, but he had his eyes. The awkward position of his head assisted the effort, too.

A part of Paul did think that, should things have been very different, he might have found Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen very beautiful. Perhaps even attractive, though he couldn't imagine having eyes for anyone but Chani, hadn't had such for a very long time. But he closed that knowledge in a corner of his mind under a loose lock, and paid attention to the predator prowling the room. 

Oh, this one. This one was dangerous. This one would be dangerous no matter how deeply he might commit to a course of action that was favorable, and he wasn't going to. But he was still going to do one thing, and that thing was going to make a difference, and Paul's job was to pretend being a challenging masochist so Feyd's interest would wrap around him closely enough that Paul would snap it into action. One little thing. It would save Leto's life, so Paul would get him to do it. 

By the time some of the chains were loosened, Paul was bleeding from more than his nose. A slash on his shoulder, stinging. A series of thin cuts on the side of his back, under the shoulder-blade, neat and promising pain, either when he was on his back or when sweat seared over the exposed inner flesh, later. Sweat. Semen. Whatever Feyd had planned. 

The gag stayed in place, so he couldn't not suck, but his eyes remained wide and steady and as sincere as the blue-on-blue they had acquired could seem as Feyd slid his long, slender penis, hot and slick, along his cheeks. Intimate. Slow. Adding blood to the secretion already leaking. The mixture stung at his eye, but Paul didn't close it, and when the erection was moving down over his face, he lifted his gag-puckered lips to caress the underside. 

"Initiative." It was the first word he had spoken, and Paul added its sound to Feyd's Voice profile. "You like the rules to this game."

Paul didn't look away as he nodded slowly. 

Feyd grabbed him by the collar and hefted him on the bed, Paul's knees complaining after so long on the hard tile. He didn't let himself react, focusing instead on what Feyd would find when he cut off (or tore off) the loincloth in a moment. 

To his surprise, Feyd stretched beside him, thin lips against his ear, and took them off slowly. "Let's see what we have here." His fingers bunched the fabric, then his teeth sank into Paul's auracle as he pulled the loincloth, making it dig harshly into his crack, squeezing his balls. The double pain made Paul arch up, and the throb in his own penis was not faked at all. "Ye-es." Feyd's hiss was lazy, pleased. Paul was doing well. 

In a short time, Paul's naked body was arranged, using the chains, in a near-split, face-down into the cover. It made his hole tight, and he knew the pain would be sought after, rather than avoided. There would be no preparation. For either of them.

Feyd embraced some of the pain close to as much as he enjoyed giving it. If he was in control.

 

The scent of the Spice rose to an almost cloying level, and then receded as Paul slowly drifted out of the vision. It had taken a few moments to trace over it, to know that by this point, he had missed the chance to make the plan work. Feyd would spit him onto his penis, then spit him, literally.

He would have to find another way. There _had_ to be a way to save his son. And whatever he would have to do for it, it would be done. He refused to accept that, in all the time and possibilities, there was no way for him to find. Refused to accept that, even a Harkonnen, would be entirely impossible to turn around. To save a child, of his blood, even. 

Refused. 

What good was all of his power, or the one he _was_ going to acquire, if this simple, small thing was beyond his reach?

What kind of father was he...


End file.
